


just listen to the rhythm of my heart

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's covered in grease, can feel the sweat dripping in a line down his back and ringing a damp patch beneath his arms, which isn't unusual, exactly, but.</p>
<p>It's not quite how he pictured this reunion would go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just listen to the rhythm of my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SolariaLunar21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolariaLunar21/gifts).



> this is really just fluff with a side of plot for your lovely high school sweethearts getting back together prompt; i hope it's what you wanted xx
> 
> endless thanks to my beta, a beautiful tropical fish a person, who is the ann perkins to my leslie knope.
> 
> title from 'i believe in a thing called love' by the darkness. also the reason i made liam a mechanic is honestly [this picture](http://40.media.tumblr.com/cd6679683d5c0a660a61403feb61e81c/tumblr_n5o9mjoKdP1sh58zwo1_500.jpg).

 

Liam's covered in grease, can feel the sweat dripping in a line down his back and ringing a damp patch beneath his arms, which isn't unusual, exactly, but.

It's not quite how he pictured this reunion would go.

“Harry?” he asks, just to be sure. The boy – man, really – standing in front of him has Harry's eyes, but his face is older, leaner, and framed with tangles of wild hair that Liam wouldn't mind running his fingers through.

Harry's eyes widen, greener than Liam remembered, and then he's yelling Liam's name, throwing his arms around him, grease and all. Liam hugs him back a little more cautiously, trying to keep his oil-stained fingers off Harry's nice dress shirt. Harry doesn't seem to notice, only pulling back far enough to beam at Liam.

“I can't believe it's you! Holy shit, what are the chances?”

Liam smiles back wryly. “Of all the garages in all the world, huh?”

“Oh!” Harry says, like he's forgotten that they're standing in Liam's shop. Well, it's not Liam's shop, technically, but it's the shop that employs him. “Are you a mechanic, then?”

Glancing down at his dirty coveralls, Liam raises a brow. “What gave me away?”

Harry grins, unrepentant, eyes sweeping up and down Liam's frame in an obvious come-on. “It's a good look on you.”

Barely a minute into the conversation, and he's already flirting. Nice to know Harry hasn't changed much since Liam saw him last.

“Pays the bills,” Liam says easily, before steering the conversation towards safer waters. “So, did you have an appointment, or--”

Harry winces. “No? But I was on my way into work when my car started to make this weird noise, sort of a--” he makes a weird noise with his mouth, not unlike a malfunctioning robot, or a drunk beatboxer, which is cute, if unhelpful “--and, like, I wasn't sure, if it was safe to drive...” He trails off, giving Liam a sheepish look. “Probably should have called ahead, right?”

Definitely should've. Liam's got back-to-back appointments all day, couldn't look at Harry's car even if he wanted to.

So it's a surprise to both of them when he opens his mouth and the words “Don't worry about it. I'll take a quick look, let you know if there's any serious problems” spill out. He immediately regrets it, but then Harry looks at him like he hung the sun in the sky, and Liam – Liam forgot what it was like, to be on the receiving end of that look.

Two minutes in, and Liam's fucked. Might be a personal record.

He cuts off Harry's rambling thank you, herding him to the waiting room to sit so Liam can do his job. Or, like, so he can _not_ do his job, checking out Harry's car instead of the one he's supposed to be looking at. It's fine. He forgot to bring a lunch today anyway, he can just work straight through his break.

After poking around under the hood of Harry's car for ten minutes, Liam figures out the problem. Wiping the oil from his fingers with an already oily rag, which is about as effective as it sounds, he beckons Harry over.

“It's your catalytic converter.”

Harry looks at him blankly.

“It's a part of the engine?” Liam tries. “Needs to be replaced.”

Harry frowns. “Right now?”

“I mean... I wouldn't recommend driving your car any further than around the block, until you get it fixed.”

Harry's frown deepens. “And how long will that take?”

“Maybe an hour?” Liam guesses. Once a new part is ordered, and Harry makes an actual appointment. All that could take a day or two.

“Really? That quick?” Harry's smiling again, looking at Liam with something like wonder, and Liam is totally, royally fucked.

“Let me check the storeroom, see if we have extra parts, all right?” It's fine. He can work late. It's not like he had plans, or anything. Harry beams at him, dimples out in full force, and Liam smiles back, helpless.

-

“You know, it's funny, Liam, because I could have sworn that your lunch break starts at noon. Yet here it is, ten after, and you're still working.”

Wiping sweat away from his brow with his equally sweaty forearm, Liam shoots Louis a dark look. “It's been a busy day, all right?”

“Uh huh,” Louis says, obnoxiously chewing a handful of cashews with his mouth open. “And that wouldn't have anything to do with Tall, Dark, and Curly showing up here this morning, would it?”

Liam seriously considers chucking a wrench at Louis' head, but he'd probably kill him on accident and have to deal with Louis' ghost haunting him for eternity. Seems like the kind of thing Louis would do.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” he says primly.

Louis' eyes narrow and Liam immediately realizes that it was a mistake, trying to deflect. Louis will dig his teeth in now, won't let go until he's gotten what he wants. He's like a pitbull, or maybe a staticky sock when you forget to add a dryer sheet. Something tenacious and annoying.

Liam's always been of the opinion that the best defense is a good offense, so he hastily adds, “and anyway, what were you doing, _spying_ on me? Is that what you get paid to do at work? _Spy_ on innocent people?”

“No, I get paid to put up with rude customers and make the world's best coffee. I can't help if there are no customers and the only way to occupy my time is watching you fuck around.”

Usually it's convenient that the coffee shop Louis works at is right next door to the garage, because it means that Louis will occasionally bring him fresh coffee or stale pastries. Sometimes, though, it blows up in Liam's face.

“You should invest in a hobby,” Liam suggests. “I hear minding your own business is really popular with the kids these days.”

Louis grins ferally. “I'm a trendsetter, Liam. I blaze my own trail.” He flicks a cashew at Liam's forehead. “I saw you hug him. What'd you do, offer him a free oil change in exchange for a blow job?”

Flipping the wrench in his hand, Liam thinks aloud, “That wouldn't be free though, would it? If he had to pay in sexual favors, I mean. It'd be more of a trade, I think.”

“For fuck's sake – I was joking, Liam. Stop trying to change the subject. Tell me why he hugged you.”

Liam doesn't point out that Louis was the one who brought up the subject of blow jobs in the first place, because that's dangerous territory. Especially when he confesses, “Um. Well. He's my ex-boyfriend?”

Louis opens and closes his mouth several times, and Liam wracks his brain, but he's pretty sure this is the first time he's rendered Louis speechless.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Louis finally says. “You, Liam _I'm-not-looking-for-anything-serious, I-_ _really-_ _don't-date,_ _I'm-too-young-to-settle-down_ Payne. You. Have an ex-boyfriend?”

Liam scratches the back of his neck. “Yes?”

The admission stumps Louis for a moment, but he's always been quick on his feet. “Did he break your heart? Do you need me to kill him? I swear, I know at least six places we can hide the body, but you're gonna have to dig the grave, I don't have the upper body strength to--”

“Oh my god, stop, shut up, please don't kill Harry. It wasn't – we dated in high school. Went our separate ways in college. No heartbreak.”

Louis crosses his arms stubbornly and Liam lets out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine, a little heartbreak. But it was – look, it was a, what's the word, a mutual decision.”

“Right.” Louis looks like he has more to say on the subject, but he catches sight of the clock hanging in the shop and swears. “I need to get back to work.”

Saved by the bell. Liam breathes a sigh of relief.

“But this conversation isn't over, Payno. If you think I'm gonna let this go, you're sadly mistaken.”

Liam reminds himself of all the reasons why he shouldn't throw his wrench at Louis. There would be no one to bail him out of jail, for one, since that's usually Louis' job. Liam watches him flounce out the door, leaving him alone with his growling stomach.

-

Before Harry had left the shop with his newly installed catalytic converter, he'd insisted on exchanging numbers to “catch up.” Liam assumed he was just being polite, and had no intention of actually texting him.

He'd forgotten how often Harry proved him wrong, especially when he made assumptions.

“What are you looking at?” Louis demands, slamming his beer onto the table. A bit sloshes over the rim, spilling down the side of the glass and over Louis' knuckles.

There's already a collection of empties littering the table, which is a handy excuse for why Liam blurts out the truth. “Harry just texted me. Wants to hang out.”

“ _Harry_ wants to hang out, does he?” Louis asks, emphasizing his name in a way that makes Liam wish he had two less – or two more – drinks in his system.

“Invite him out!” Niall bellows. “Haven't seen Harry in ages.” There's a pink flush to his cheeks that reaches down to his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. It's probable he's responsible for most of the empty glasses on the table.

“You haven't seen him ever. You don't even know him.”

Niall waves a hand, unbothered. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Leemo. You know that.”

Zayn snorts into his own beer, which would be disgusting if his cheekbones were any less defined. It's mildly unfair.

“Yeah, Liam,” Louis echoes, eyes gleaming with faint evil. “Invite _Harry_ out. We're all dying to meet him, aren't we, boys?”

In unison, Zayn and Niall clink their glasses together, toasting cheerfully to meeting Harry. Forget mild unfairness. Nothing is fair at all.

“I hate you,” Liam informs Louis, even as he texts Harry the address of the bar.

He responds almost immediately that he's on his way. Liam doesn't have a clue where he lives, or how long it will take him to arrive, and it seems like a great idea to buy another round, both to fortify himself and get the others more drunk. Won't make them any less obnoxious, but maybe everyone will drink too much to remember anything and Liam can escape this night unscarred.

Sliding out of the booth, Liam ignores the uncomfortable twinge in his knee as he stands. The floor is sticky beneath his feet as he walks towards the bar, pushing through the rowdy evening crowd. Liam has to raise his voice to order, signaling to the bearded bartender that he wants four more beers. As he waits, he reaches for a handful of peanuts from the dish sitting on the bar, crunching on a mouthful.

Liam's not _exactly_ watching the entrance, but he definitely notices when the door swings open, letting in a draft of sticky summer air. A broad-shouldered man buttoned to his collared throat in a starched white dress shirt, his hair cropped closely to his head, steps inside.

It's not until the man shuffles further into the bar and the low wattage lighting glances off his face that Liam realizes it's _Harry_. His hair isn't buzzed, like he first thought, but scraped back from his face in a bun or something. Harry glances around the bar with curiosity, apparently completely unfazed that he sticks out in this crowd with his carefully creased pants and shiny black dress shoes. When he spots Liam, his face lights up, and he weaves his way through the tangle of tables towards the bar.

“Sorry,” Liam says once Harry's within earshot. “Didn't know you'd get here so quick, or I would've waited to order you something.”

Harry waves him off. “Don't worry about it.” He catches the bartender's eye and orders a Jack and coke, smiling wide enough to dimple his cheek.

Once they're served their drinks, Liam leads the way back to their table, Harry trailing after him like a well-dressed duckling and sipping at his straw. Niall greets him like an old friend, because Niall treats everyone like an old friend. Zayn smiles, tongue pressed to his teeth, which transforms his face from intimidatingly attractive to approachably adorable. Louis plays his cards a little closer to his chest, tipping his beer at Harry and studying him with shrewd eyes. If Harry notices, he doesn't give any sign.

“So,” Louis starts in a conversational tone as Harry and Liam both settle into their seats, everyone sliding around a bit to accommodate Harry. “Liam tells me you two dated in high school.”

Liam chokes on his drink and Niall has to slap his back a few times. Harry watches with something like amusement, fingers playing with the buttons on his cuff.

“He's not wrong,” Harry consents agreeably. He finally succeeds in freeing the buttons, and sets to work rolling up his sleeves. The change is instantaneous, making him look less like a salaried middle manager and more like the boy Liam fell in love with, hidden depths beneath his polished surface. There's black ink scattered across his forearms that Liam doesn't remember from high school, and more barely hidden beneath the edges of Harry's shirt when he loosens his tie and undoes the buttons at his throat. Liam's sort of mesmerized.

Luckily, Niall interrupts Louis' interrogation before he can completely ruin Liam's life, asking loudly, “So what do ya do, Harry? Look like a lawyer, or somethin' fancy.” He's a born and bred American, but Ireland has a way of sneaking into his voice when he drinks. If Liam had to guess, Niall's fairly drunk.

Harry smiles, the way Liam used to hate, like he's playing the part of something he's not. “Not a lawyer, though I do work in a law office,” he offers, somewhat cryptically.

“Called it,” Niall crows, even though he didn't. Zayn lets Niall high five him anyway, because they're all bad at denying Niall anything. Harry leans back in his seat in a casual sprawl, the picture of contentment, but Liam gets the feeling he's cataloging away information for later. He always did notice more than he let on. It's a trait Liam hasn't forgotten.

As the night wears on, Harry folds into their little group with unsurprising ease, deflecting Louis' verbal barbs with his typical terrible humor, and laughing loudly with Niall. Even Zayn's tongue loosens after a few drinks, snorting out an incredulous laugh at one of Harry's odder stories.

“Bro. You found it in an elevator. And you _ate_ it?”

It's not until Niall staggers away to buy another round that he'll probably just end up drinking himself that there's a lull in the conversation. Bringing his glass to his lips, Harry gulps down a mouthful, his eyes on Liam like a challenge. “You weren't much of a drinker in high school, Liam.”

Liam knocks back a healthy swallow of his own beer. “A lot has changed since high school, Harry.” He doesn't need to look at Louis to know that he's watching this exchange with rapt attention, like he's waiting for the inevitable crash, or, more likely, an opportunity to pounce.

What Louis doesn't know about Harry is that he's always been good at escaping sticky situations. “To the future, then,” Harry says, tipping his glass towards Liam.

Liam clicks his glass against Harry's, for old time's sake, and ignores the way his heart stutters at Harry's knowing smile.

-

By the end of the night, they have to pour a stumbling Harry into a cab. Niall's in no better shape, but at least he lives around the corner and can lean on Zayn's shoulder the whole way. The hug goodbye he gives Harry lasts so long that both the cab driver and Zayn threaten to leave, and when Niall finally releases him, Harry gives the rest of them regretful looks, like he had planned to dole out hugs to everyone. Liam pretends not to notice the way Harry's gaze lingers on him as he finally climbs into the backseat, nearly smacking his forehead on the door.

Harry presses his palm to the window as the cab pulls away, like they're in some crappy romcom instead of loitering outside a rundown pub at bar time. With a drunken giggle, Niall trails after the cab for a few lurching steps until Zayn grabs his arm and drags him bodily out of the street, swearing a blue streak.

He waves off Louis and Liam's offers to help walk Niall home (“It's not far, and I'll just leave him in a gutter if he gets too rambunctious.” “I'll leave you _and_ your dictionary in a gutter, Malik!”), their good-natured bickering carrying down the street as Zayn guides Niall with a hand on his waist.

Liam realizes a beat too late that without the other boys to buffer, he's left himself vulnerable to an onslaught from Louis, who will take full advantage of Liam's tipsiness to tease and poke and prod for information.

Cautiously, he glances over at Louis. He's absentmindedly tapping a carton of cigarettes against his chin, studying Liam with unreadable eyes. Liam swallows, feeling every one of the drinks he had tonight swimming in his veins.

“You like him,” Louis observes. Maybe it's the alcohol, but it sounds like an accusation.

“I... we... I don't...”

“Uh huh. That's what I thought.” Louis bops Liam on the nose with his cigarettes. “I'm only going to say this once, so I hope you're listening. Don't fuck this up. Do not. Fuck. This. Up. And if he fucks _you_ up, the killing him and burying the body thing is like, a standing offer. Just so you know.”

Louis' smile is sharp enough to cut, and for a second Liam wonders if Louis _has_ hidden a body before, but then the edges of his mouth curl into something fond and familiar.

“I don't like him!” Liam finally remembers to protest, entirely too late.

Louis grins. “I am going to have so much fun saying I told you so.”

He walks away before Liam can think of a retort. Bastard.

-

A few days and one hangover later, Liam's in the cereal aisle, weighing the pros and cons of Fruity Pebbles versus Cocoa Puffs, when the sound of his name being shouted breaks his concentration.

“Liam Payne! Fancy meeting you here.”

The muscles in Liam's cheeks pull up into an automatic smile before his brain can catch up. “Harry Styles,” he returns. “Is this another coincidence, or are you stalking me?”

Harry pretends to consider. “Which one is more romantic?”

Shaking his head, Liam drops both boxes of cereal into his basket. It's nice to have choices, especially when it comes to your cereal cupboard. “Don't think stalking is ever romantic, so.”

Harry's grin turns sly. “Guess I'll have to rethink my seduction plan, then.”

“Sometimes,” Liam says thoughtfully, “I can't believe I ever dated you.”

“Excuse me, Liam. I am a prize, I'll have you know.” Liam takes the opportunity to peer into Harry's basket. He's got a bunch of bananas, a single avocado, and a bag of flour. As Liam's own basket has only frozen dinners and two boxes of children's cereal, he's in no position to judge. Still...

“That's going to make a pretty disgusting cake,” Liam says, nodding towards the contents of Harry's basket.

Harry glances down, surprised. “What? You've never had a banana avocado truffle?”

“A banana avocado – you're not serious.”

“As a heart attack! Baking is a serious business, Liam, and I --” he can't even finish his sentence before he's laughing at his own stupid joke, bent over to prop his hands on his knees and actually wheezing a bit. “I'm joking,” he finally manages, sounding breathless. “I'm making cupcakes from scratch for a work thing. I have the rest of the ingredients already, just needed some flour.”

Liam frowns. “Banana cupcakes?”

“Uh, I was just thinking vanilla, actually, not really sure why you'd – oh!” Harry says when Liam nods meaningfully towards the green-tinged bananas. “No, those aren't for baking – christ, Liam, they're not even _ripe_.” He sounds a bit offended about it. Liam presses his lips together against a smile.

“Sorry, sorry.” He pauses, but his curiosity gets the best of him. “What's the avocado for, then?”

Harry barely manages to spit out the words “organic guacamole” before he's laughing again, hard enough that Liam can see tears welling in his eyes. If Liam had to hazard a guess, Harry's made another joke. He can't say that he _gets_ it, exactly – never really did understand Harry's weird sense of humor – but he's got one of those infectious laughs that makes it hard to keep a straight face.

It's been a long time since Liam's cracked up with helpless laughter in a cereal aisle, but to be fair, he's never grocery shopped with Louis before. Probably it'd end up with similar results, minus the bit where Liam wants to lick the vee of skin peeking out where Harry's shirt is a button or three short of decent.

Which is not an appropriate thought for a grocery store. _Families_ shop here. Liam is a monster.

“Um. There's a sale on eggs, right now,” he blurts out, because he can't say _I missed your laugh_ , or _you're a few millimeters from full nipple and I want to bend you over that fancy cheese display to see if you taste the same as I remember_.

Harry blinks. “Eggs?”

“Yeah, like.” Liam swallows heavily. “If you need them for your cupcakes?”

“Thank you, Liam. That's very thoughtful of you, to think of my egg needs.”

“Anytime,” Liam offers weakly. He makes a tactful retreat then, back to the freezer aisle. He totally forgot ice cream. And if it takes him a full half an hour to decide between blue moon and chocolate, well.

Harry's left by the time he finally checks out, so it's a win, honestly.

-

“I swear to god, I am not stalking you.”

Pushing up his sleeves with greasy fingers, Liam raises a brow. “That sounds like something a stalker would say.”

Harry frowns, a wrinkle pinching the skin between his brows. “Are you sure? I feel like a stalker would be more upfront about it. You know, telling you that they know where you live, and sending you creepy letters with the words cut out of magazines, or like, calling you on the phone to breathe heavily, and... I should stop, shouldn't I? Yes. I'm stopping.”

Liam bites his lip against a laugh. “What are you doing here, Harry, if you're not stalking me?”

“I wanted to show you something,” Harry grins. He grabs for Liam's wrist, his slender fingers circling over Liam's pulse point and slipping down until he's mostly holding Liam's hand, tugging him insistently towards the door.

It's a slow day at the garage, which is the only reason Liam follows without protest. Harry leads him to the parking lot, gesturing with a flourish towards a--

“Is that a '57 Corvette?” It's in fantastic condition, and Liam runs his hands over the cherry-red finish, fingers itching to poke around under the hood.

“My step-dad's,” Harry confirms, sounding smug. “He's been doing most of the restoration himself, but he wants an actual mechanic to take a look, doesn't trust just anyone with his car, you know, but I told him that you fixed my car in like an hour, and he remembers you from when we were in high school, like, I mean, _obviously_ , and he said he'd love for you to look it over, and I figured that you might like to work on a classic car, so, like--”

“Harry,” Liam interrupts before Harry can get lost in his own rambling. “Are you... are you trying to seduce me with your step-dad's car?”

Harry rocks back on his heels. “Seduce is such a strong word,” he says slowly. After a beat, he adds, “is it working?”

“Give me a few hours alone with this car, and I'll let you know.”

“Gross,” a new voice cuts in, and Liam whips his head around.

“Louis!” Harry says brightly. “Are you stalking Liam, too?”

Liam scrunches his eyebrows in a tone that he hopes implies that Louis' lifeless body will end up at the bottom of a large body of water if he answers that question, before he remembers that eyebrows don't really have a tone.

Not that it matters, anyway. Louis already has his arm slung over Harry's shoulder - has to stand on his tiptoes, Liam notes with satisfaction - and is saying grandly, “Of course, Harold. I have to check up on him constantly, you know, or else he'd be out here, making love to a car. It's sickening, really.”

“Louis,” Liam sighs, considerably less brightly.

“My name isn't Harold,” Harry giggles. He actually giggles. Liam tries to ignore the way it makes something warm curl in his gut. Fails miserably. “Harry's not short for anything. Just Harry.”

It's been less than a week since the boys' night out at the pub that Harry crashed. Liam's been failing to ignore a lot of things since then. Louis' been succeeding in noticing. Harry, apparently, has been plotting.

“I'm concerned that you're more worried about me getting your name right than Liam being a car-fucker,” Louis says conversationally.

“Jesus, Louis,” Liam hisses. “I'm going to muzzle you.”

“Kinky.” Louis winks at Harry, who promptly giggles again. Liam can't believe that Louis is flirting with Harry _for_ him, or the fact that he feels like a third wheel on his own date.

Which, wait. Hold up. This isn't a date. This is – this is Harry showing up at his place of employment, unannounced, with a really cool car that he's going to let Liam work on. A really cool, really red car that Liam wants to feel rumbling beneath him, foot pressed on the gas and top down so he can feel the wind in his hair. A really cool, really red car with a cramped interior that would make it challenging for Liam to crawl into Harry's lap and get his hand in Harry's pants, but inspires Liam to like, take a yoga class or something, because he wants to take Harry apart even more than the car.

Harry's smile is more dangerous than the powerful engine beneath the hood. Liam should slam on the brakes.

“Do you think your step-dad would let us take it for a drive?” Liam asks, fingers tracing over the Venetian red curves.

“Yes,” Harry says immediately.

Liam doesn't need to look at Louis to know exactly what tone his eyebrows have. He can hear the _I told you so_ from here.

-

In the end, Liam has to take a rain-check on the drive, getting swamped with walk-ins and spending most of the afternoon with his head bent over various engines until his nails are stained with oil and there's a crick in his neck. His knee is acting up too, the way it does when rainclouds start to build, and he rubs his hand over the familiar ache absentmindedly.

Sure enough, it starts to pour just when they're locking up for the night. Liam's soaked within minutes, the thick material of his coveralls saturated with rain. It feels nice after a long, sweltering afternoon in the garage and Liam tips his head back, lets rivers of rain water wash away the sweat and stress of the day.

He spares a moment to mourn the fact that Harry isn't here in one of his white shirts, drenched and dripping, because he's only human. As if he can sense when someone is having impure thoughts about him, Harry's name flashes across the screen of Liam's phone.

“Hello?” Liam hopes he doesn't sound as guilty as he feels.

“Liam. How do you feel about fishing?”

“Um. Is this a trick question?” Is fishing a euphemism for something? Generally Liam thinks no, but it's hard to tell with Harry.

“No, I'm being serious! Do you wanna go fishing with me this weekend? You used to like, you know, outdoorsy stuff, and I dunno, I thought it'd be a nice way to, like, catch up. It was great and all, meeting your friends, but, like.” They're loud, obnoxious drunks, and it's hard to have an actual conversation with all of them shouting over each other. Liam knows.

“Sure,” he says finally. “That sounds... nice. Just, like. Catching up.”

It sounds like a trap, actually. Liam's not sure how, but he's never trusted Harry's smile. Harry's probably going to bring it fishing with them, and that smile is responsible for most of Liam's bad choices. Like the first time Liam tried beer and ended the night with his head in the toilet, or the time that Liam's mom walked in on them when Harry's hand was shoved down the front of his jeans, or when Harry said, “seriously, Liam, you can't waste that football scholarship, and you know I've always wanted to study abroad, and we can't spend the rest of our lives wondering if things had been different, if we hadn't taken these chances. I love you, you know I do, and that's why I can't hold you back. We're too young to settle. It'd be better, wouldn't it, if we ended things now, when it's good, a clean break, so we can – we can chase our dreams, yeah?” and Liam said, “Yeah, Haz, yeah. I love you, too, but I think... yeah.”

“Excellent!” Harry says. “I'll pick you up Saturday, bright and early? Won't be able to get my step-dad's car, but mine's running great. Had this incredible mechanic fix it up, so.”

Liam laughs. “I already said yes, no need to butter me up. See you Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes. Liam can hear the smile in his voice. It sounds like a warning.

-

Harry pulls up outside Liam's apartment building an hour late, which is fine because Liam forgot to set an alarm and only woke up twenty minutes ago anyway. He's still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he stumbles out the door, immediately faced with a bright-eyed Harry.

“Morning, Liam! Ready to go?”

“Yeah, hi, morning, I – just to be clear. This isn't a date.” It seems important, that Liam clarify this. Bluntly, so Harry will get it.

“Of course not,” Harry agrees, too easily. Liam narrows his eyes.

“I'm serious. This is just – old friends catching up.”

Harry holds out his hands, palms up. “Just friends. Boys' day out. Manly men, doing... manly things.”

Liam can see two fishing poles poking out of Harry's open rear windows, clearly too long to fit in the backseat. It makes him feel better as he folds himself into Harry's car, that the fishing thing wasn't a euphemism. Of course, it's entirely possible that Harry has ulterior motives and the poles are just a front, but Liam's being very clear about his intentions and Harry has always been a big believer in respecting people's boundaries.

The problem is that they didn't use to have any, and Liam's not really good at saying no.

It's not a far drive to the coast, and Harry's clearly got his destination already in mind, steering them to a quiet stretch of beach that features a long, mostly deserted pier. A cool breeze whips off the water, making Harry's curls dance and staving off the worst of the heat. The sun has long since crested the horizon, their less-than-early start further delayed by stopping for coffee along the way, but the rest of the day stretches out in front of them.

They settle at the end of the pier, Liam's legs dangling off the edge and fishing pole held loosely in hand. Harry gives up all pretenses of fishing after about five minutes, instead lying back on the weathered wood with his hands clasped over his stomach, his fishing pole abandoned beside him. Liam can't say he's surprised, but even if Harry's not being an active participant, it's nice, just being outside like this. He tells Harry so.

“I know,” Harry says, cracking his eyes open with a grin. “Look how outside we are! Liam! We're outside!” he shouts and Liam tries to shush him with a laugh.

“You're such a shit sometimes.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “But you love me anyway.”

Liam stills, fingers clenching around his pole, but Harry doesn't seem to notice. He kicks his foot out to nudge against Liam's thigh. “So c'mon, Liam. Thought we were gonna catch up. Tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, well. I'm a Virgo, I like long walks on the beach and making love in front of a fireplace--”

“Stop,” Harry whines, but Liam can hear the laugh that's threatening to burst out. “You know what I meant! Tell what's happened since high school, how you met Louis and the boys, or how you wound up working as a mechanic, of all things.”

Shifting his weight, Liam adjusts his grip on the pole. The fish haven't been biting. “I mean, I've always liked cars, so.”

“Yeah, but that's not what you went to school for,” Harry presses. He sounds more curious than anything, but it still makes something like annoyance flair in Liam's gut.

“No,” he agrees. “Went to school to play football, didn't I? Obviously that didn't really pan out.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry says suddenly. “I don't think I ever – I think I was in South America, maybe, when I found out, and I couldn't – I never said, how shit that was, what happened, and I should've--”

“Harry,” Liam cuts off his rambling mid-sentence. “It's fine, yeah? I mean, it sucked at the time, but that was years ago. I'm – I was never good enough to go pro, anyway. Just had to give it up a little earlier than I expected, is all.”

“Well, I'm still sorry,” Harry says mulishly. “I should've, like, visited you in the hospital, or sent you flowers, or--”

Liam laughs, shaking his head. “From South America? Seriously, Haz, it's fine. Got really into fixing things when I was going through PT, and once my knee healed enough I started on cars, so it all worked out in the end.”

“Still should have been there for you. Don't lie to me, Liam. I know how hard it must've been for you, having a career-ending injury.” He's still stretched out on his back, squinting up at Liam against the glare of the sun, mouth twisted in a stubborn pout. Liam wants to kiss him until his lips go pliant under Liam's, until the sweetness of the sugared coffee they drank on the ride here is gone and the only thing Liam can taste is Harry.

Instead Liam keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, the way the bobber on his line rides the crest of each wave, blinking in and out of eyesight.

“What about you, then? South America is a long ways from the east coast. How'd you end up here, working as – whatever it is you do?”

With a wry smile, Harry lets out a deep sigh. “I'm an administrative assistant for a law firm, if you must know.”

“An admini-- you're a secretary?”

“What? No! I'm not a – I'm very important, Liam.”

“A reliable secretary is the backbone of any office, really. You might be more important than all the lawyers, or the CEO even—argh!” Liam nearly drops the fishing pole as Harry pounces on him, laughing madly and trying to dig his fingers into Liam's ticklish sides. They might be evenly matched for height, and Liam's a knee injury and some odd years away from football playing shape, but it's not like he's let himself go. He pins Harry in under a minute flat, sitting across his hips and holding his wrists above his head, whooping with victory.

Harry, for his part, doesn't look upset at losing. He's grinning up at Liam, the white of his teeth blinding against his red mouth, and Liam would only need to lean down another foot to close the gap between them. He gaze flicks down to watch the way Harry's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and the fishing pole he left lying on the pier jerks against his leg, nearly dropping into the water.

It's only Liam's mad scramble that saves it from a watery grave. The fish on his hook has run most of the line out by then, and the pole bends nearly in half as Liam tries to reel it in. Next to him, Harry is laughing so hard he's nearly wheezing.

“A fish!” he gasps out around peals of laughter. “You actually caught a fucking fish!”

“Well what did you expect? We're _fishing_ ,” Liam grumps. His heart is thudding madly in his chest. Probably the excitement of finally catching something, he tells himself.

Harry's laugh turns into a squeal when Liam manages to land the fish, which proceeds to flop violently around the pier. Neither one of them wants to touch it, and Liam thinks they really should have thought this through. He grabs for it with a grimace, Harry laughing breathlessly.

“Why did you decide that fishing would be a bright idea?” he asks, wincing as the slimy fish thrashes wildly, tail nearly hitting Liam in the eye. It's a losing battle, trying to get the hook out of its mouth, and Harry's being a backseat driver, tossing out useless suggestions.

“To be _outdoors_ , Liam. Listen, just – wiggle the hook a bit that way, and then – no, no, not like that – LIAM! Not my FACE!”

It's Liam's turn to lose it, doubled-over with laughter at the outraged expression twisting Harry's features. Sunlight glints off the wet patch on his skin where the fish's tail caught him full in the cheek, slapping him with a wet smack. Liam loses his grip on the fish and it flips itself back into the ocean, still caught on the hook, and by the time Liam's managed to catch his breath, he realizes there's no tension in the line.

“Oh,” he says. “I think it got away.”

Harry rubs at his cheek petulantly. “Good.”

-

Liam's the only one who laughs when Harry tries to retell the story Saturday night, the rest of the boys smiling in that patient sort of way people tend to smile during a Harry story.

“So then, like, it was flopping around, its – gills, are they called? - its gills were doing that thing, you know, where it's trying to breathe, but obviously it couldn't breathe, because it wasn't in the water, and the hook was still in its mouth, and I was telling Liam, like, pull it that way, no, _this_ way, and--”

“Bro, you truly have a gift for story telling,” Louis interrupts, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. “Anyone else want another round?”

“I do!” Niall shouts. Next to him, Zayn mumbles something that could be interpreted as yes. Liam had thought he'd actually fallen asleep for a moment, so it's possible it was actually a really positive sounding snore.

The set of Harry's mouth is close to a pout, so Liam slips an arm over his shoulder.

“Don't be mad,” he mumbles into Harry's ear, too low for the others to hear. “I think it was one of those 'you had to be there' stories.”

“I'm not mad,” Harry sniffs. He leans against Liam's side, until they're pressed together from shoulder to hip. “I just think your friends are mean and that you should make it up to me by whispering sweet nothings in my ear for the rest of the night.”

Liam snorts. “You're shameless.”

But he doesn't pull away, letting Harry stay tucked into his side until last call. It's difficult to say what's harder to ignore: Louis' indulgent smirk from across the table, or the way Liam's heart seems to have lodged itself in his throat.

-

It feels like it's still there nearly a week later when Harry calls him up after work one day, inviting him over to taste-test a batch of cupcakes. Liam gives in and agrees after an unsurprisingly small amount of begging on Harry's part. Someone like Louis might have objected that a single "please, Liam" even counts as begging, but Louis has never heard the gravelly tone Harry's voice can achieve over the phone. Louis definitely doesn't know how similar it sounds to Harry's voice first thing in the morning, still rough from sleep, or after he's taken Liam deep, eyes pricking with tears and jaw stretched wide. Liam's quick to shut down that line of thought, because it's too early for a cold shower.

He's mostly expecting some bad puns about baking, and possibly some inappropriate innuendos about bananas. When he arrives at Harry's apartment, though, Harry manages to catch him completely off guard.

“Are you sure that's sanitary?” Liam asks after a long moment of forgetting how to make words with his mouth.

Harry glances at Liam over his shoulder, where he's sliding a tray of cupcakes into the oven. “I'm wearing an apron.”

“Yes, I can see that. I can also see your ass, though?”

With a shrug, Harry turns back towards his cupcakes. “I find clothing restrictive to the baking process.”

A short argument later, which ends with flour in Liam's hair and underwear covering Harry's ass, Liam finds himself sitting at Harry's rickety kitchen table, crossing his legs uncomfortably and watching as Harry frowns into various mixing bowls.

“Hmm. Not sure about this,” he mumbles to himself. “Maybe if I...?” He does something Liam can't see before turning around, holding a spatula dripping with batter like it's a weapon.

“Open up,” he instructs, shoving the spatula into Liam's face.

“No, I'm n—mmpf,” Liam tries to say around the sudden spatula in his mouth. Should have seen that one coming, honestly. He pushes Harry's hand away, but hangs on to the spatula. “No, you've lost your privileges. I'm keeping this.” If he ends up licking it clean, well. He did agree to taste test.

Harry's smile is a little smug as he places another tray of cupcakes in the oven, several dozen already cooling on the kitchen counter. While he did finally relent to putting on underwear (under threat of Liam leaving), he's wearing the tiniest pair of briefs Liam has ever seen. The black fabric stretches across his ass in a way that Liam thinks is intentional, and makes his legs look about a mile long. He's always known how to play to his strengths, Liam will give him that. 

He's trying to figure out the least obvious way to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash cold water in his face, or, like, jump out the window, something totally reasonable, when Harry practically squeals. “I love this song!”

He leans over to turn the radio volume up, a vaguely familiar song about haters and shaking it off spilling out of the speakers. Harry belts out the lyrics with an admirable lack of self-consciousness, catching Liam's eye with a wink when he changes the words to, “ _I'm just gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake. Bake it off, yeah._ ”

“You are the most ridiculous person I know,” Liam informs him. It comes out sounding terribly fond.

“Shut up, Liam, or I won't let you lick the bowl.”

The songs on the radio may have changed, and Harry may have lost the baby fat in his cheeks, but being around him again is like no time has past at all. Harry's still a shameless flirt, and Liam's still completely gone for him. It's like they've picked up right where they left off, easy as anything.

Except, of course, the part where they left off as just friends. That part has been a little more difficult to handle than Liam expected, it turns out.

-

“I need your advice.”

“Don't do it,” Zayn says in his lazy drawl.

“You haven't even heard what I need advice about yet,” Liam pouts.

Grinning, Zayn gestures for Liam to take a seat on his worn couch. It's an awful, faded plaid, filled with enough dust that just looking at it makes Liam's nose itch with a sneeze. Zayn won't tell anyone where he got it, and it's been sitting in his apartment almost as long as Liam's known him. That's Zayn, though; loyal to a fault, even to things well past their prime. He shrugs. “You came to me for advice, which means that you don't think it's a good idea. You would've gone to Louis if you wanted someone to tell you to do it.”

Zayn can also be startlingly insightful, which is why Liam is currently sitting on his couch instead of Louis'. He needs a sounding board whose moral compass hasn't been corrupted beyond repair. More importantly, he needs someone who won't say _I told you so_.

“I don't _know_ if it's a good idea. That's why I came to you.”

Eyes crinkling, Zayn gently pats Liam's cheek. “Does he make you happy?”

“I – what?”

“Does he make you happy?” Zayn repeats, voice gentle. Zayn does most things gently. It's another reason he's a great sounding board.

“I don't – I have no clue, absolutely no idea what you're talking about, I didn't come here for vague questions, does _who_ make me happy, I don't even – oh, fine. Fine! Yes, he makes me happy, but it's not – he's always been a huge flirt, like, it doesn't necessarily mean anything, and we weren't – I haven't even seen him in _years_ , Zayn, it's ridiculous, we've both changed so much, it's not like I'm still in love with him or anything, and he's definitely not in love with me, we just – he's just – I -”

“I think,” Zayn says, cutting off Liam's incoherent monologue. “That if he makes you happy, and you make him happy, none of the rest matters, really. And I _think_ ,” he adds, before Liam can tell him how many different ways he's wrong, “that you need to talk to Harry about it. As long as you two are on the same page, you can make it work, yeah? Whether it's platonic or romantic or whatever the fuck. You just need to _talk_ to him, like an adult.”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “I knew you were going to say that,” he accuses.

Zayn just smiles. “You didn't come to me for advice, bro. You already knew what you needed to do. You just wanted a push.”

"Maybe." That's all Liam's willing to concede. He leans into Zayn's side, and Zayn wraps an arm over his shoulder, solid as an anchor. "Never seen you like this about anyone before. You and Harry got something special, y'know?"

Leaning his head against Zayn's shoulder, Liam lets out a deep breath. "You think so?" he asks quietly, cautious optimism leaking into his tone. 

Zayn presses a swift kiss to Liam's temple. "Just talk to him, Liam," he repeats. "Use your words, like the adult you pretend to be."

“Being an adult is _hard_ ,” Liam whines, burrowing deeper into Zayn's side, and he laughs. “Don't I know it, bro.”

-

Zayn's advice sits heavily in the back of his mind, but Liam manages to put off seeing Harry for a few days. It's not like he's avoiding him, exactly, it's just.

Well. He's been avoiding him.

Like Harry can feel it, his spidey-'Liam-is-avoiding-me' senses tingling, he offers Liam something he can't refuse.

“My step-dad said I can take his car. Pick you up Saturday night?”

It's not as if Liam can say no to a '57 Corvette. It's as pretty as Liam remembered, the engine rumbling enticingly when Harry pulls up in front of Liam's building. Liam had gotten a little distracted, trying out different outfits to see which one showed off his biceps best, so he has to scramble to pull a shirt over his head and hope he hair isn't too fucked as he runs out the door.

Harry's leaning against the side of the car, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt and long hair slicked back from his face. He dangles the keys in front of Liam's face like a prize. “You wanna drive?”

“ _Please_ ,” Liam says reverently, fingers curling around the cool metal as Harry drops the keys in Liam's palm. He slides into the driver's seat, the engine igniting with a purr, and glances over at Harry, grinning wide enough to hurt.

“This is, like, oh my god, Harry, this _car_.”

Harry laughs, tipping his head back until the column of his throat is exposed. “Who's rambling now? C'mon, Liam. Drive me to the stars.”

Shifting the car into drive, Liam frowns over at Harry. “Was that a _Titanic_ reference?”

Harry winks, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes, even though the sky is already more blue shades of twilight than red hues of sunset. Shaking his head, Liam steers them out of the city, finding a long stretch of endless country road. Harry whoops loudly as Liam lets the speedometer tick up, the wind sweeping his hair back from his face, swallowing the sound.

Tires eat up the pavement until night paints the sky an inky black, pinpoints of stars glittering overhead. “Keep going 'til we reach them,” Harry mumbles, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and his head tipped back against the seat. His profile is distracting in the moonlight, all smooth pale skin and dark bruising shadows.

Liam's grip flexes on the gearshift, sweat prickling his palm, and Harry's hand finds its way to Liam's, threading their fingers together.

It would be so easy to pull over, to disguise the Venetian red beneath the blue shadows of overarching branches, buy themselves some privacy from anyone else taking night drive down the tree-lined road. It would be nothing at all to reach over and tangle his fingers in Harry's hair, to pull him in and kiss him until Liam's drunk with it, like they're back in high school and too young to know any better.

Liam aims the headlights towards home and chases shadows the whole way.

-

By the time Liam pulls up in front of his building, Harry's fallen asleep, mouth open in a snore and fingers slack where they're still laced with Liam's. Extracting the key from the ignition, Liam carefully untangles himself from Harry, who doesn't do more than sigh in his sleep. His hair's wrecked from the wind, a hopeless mess, and Liam cards his fingers through it, smoothing the strands back from Harry's forehead. He keeps his touch gentle, but it's enough to wake Harry; his eyes blink sleepily at Liam before his mouth curves into a slow smile.

“Hi,” he says, voice a low rumble.

“Hi,” Liam says back, lips twitching up helplessly. “Do you, uh – you wanna come in? Could make you a cup of coffee, for the drive home.”

“Yeah,” Harry yawns, unfolding himself from the passenger seat and climbing out the car. He follows Liam through the lobby and up the steps to his second floor apartment, leaning his cheek against Liam's shoulder as he fumbles with his keys to unlock the door.

“Living room's through there, if you wanna wait while I put on a pot of coffee?”

Harry stumbles into Liam's dark living room, tripping over something if the noises he makes are any indication, before he finds a lamp to flip on. Shaking his head, Liam makes his way to the kitchen, humming under his breath as he goes through the familiar motions of making coffee, trying to ignore the stutter of his heart beating against his rib cage.

“It'll be a few minutes, sorry, it's kind of an old coffee maker – oh,” he cuts himself off as he steps back into the living room. Harry isn't passed out on the couch the way Liam thought he'd be. Instead he's studying the framed pictures Liam's sisters helped him hang up a few months after he'd moved in, in an attempt to dress up the bland white walls he wasn't allowed to paint.

Harry's finger traces over the edge of one of the frames and he glances at Liam over his shoulder. “You have a lot of great pictures, Liam.”

“Yeah, I...” he trails off, caught out.

Tapping his finger against the frame, Harry adds, voice soft, “Lot of pictures from high school, huh? We were--” he swallows. Liam watches the way his Adam's apple bobs. “We were real happy then, weren't we?”

Mutely, Liam nods.

Harry turns to face him fully. “I miss you, you know.”

“I'm – I'm standing right here, Haz.”

The smile that pulls at Harry's mouth is one Liam didn't know he missed, the fond one that says Liam's an idiot, but Harry loves him anyway.

“Obviously. But I miss – I miss how we were, back then. I've missed making you laugh and the way your eyes go all crinkly when you smile, and I miss kissing you, and the noises you'd make, when I'd suck your co--”

“Oh my god, _Harry_ , way to ruin the fucking moment.” Liam's shoulders shake with helpless laughter.

Harry grins, unrepentant, eyes sweeping up and down Liam's frame in an obvious come-on. “Wanted to get you naked since I saw you all sweaty and covered in grease, that day in the garage. Miss seeing you naked, Liam.”

Liam tries not to smile back. He's less than successful. “Is this supposed to be wooing me?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“Harry...” Liam sighs. “We're not kids anymore, you know? We're not the same people we were in high school. This--” he gestures in the air between them “--it's not the _same_.”

“Of course it's not!” Harry agrees enthusiastically. “You've got more muscles, for one, and I have more stamina, and we would be _remiss_ , Liam, if we didn't test out just how different things are now.”

Only Harry would use a word like remiss with the intention of getting into someone's pants, and Liam can feel his resolve crumbling. "I missed you too, Haz," he confesses. A Cheshire cat grin spreads across Harry's face. "But I'm not-" It's comical, honestly, how fast Harry's smile collapses. "I'm not really looking for a one night sort of thing," Liam soldiers on. "If we're gonna do this, if we're really gonna do this, then I need us to be on the same page, yeah? I loved you, then, and I think I could, well. Could probably love you again." Might already, but that seems like the sort of confession to save for later. Like after Harry's admitted it first.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Well, I'll tell you one thing that hasn't changed. You're still a fucking idiot. D'you remember what you said, right before I kissed you for the first time?”

Liam feels his face flush red. “Um. 'Sorry if it's bad, I've never done this before?'”

Harry looks like he's biting back a laugh. “No, no, before that. You told me I better mean it.”

The memory comes swimming back, hazy around the edges with time. “Oh, yeah. I remember, I thought – I was scared, like, that you weren't serious, and I--”

Harry takes a shuffling step forward until he's in Liam's space, close enough that Liam can feel his breath, warm against his cheek. “I promise you, I was serious then, and I'm serious now. Liam, I wouldn't do this, if I didn't mean it, yeah?” His eyes flutter closed and then he's leaning in, slow enough that Liam could pull away, if he really wanted to.

Liam doesn't pull away. He lets Harry catch his mouth in a soft kiss, which lasts for all of a minute before Harry turns it filthy, his tongue a wet, slick slide against Liam's. They're both breathing a little heavily by the time Harry finally pulls back, his hand still cupping Liam's jaw, his touch hot against Liam's flushed cheek. For his part, Liam's got his fingers buried in Harry's soft hair, and has no intention of letting go.

“So,” Harry says, his mouth still close enough to Liam's that their lips brush with each word. “How 'bout a tour? Was thinking we could start with the bedroom.”

Liam laughs, and Harry kisses him again, swallowing the sound. “You sure? That one goes all night--" it's Harry's turn to snicker "--and ends with breakfast together in the morning and, you know, talking things out. Relationship things, I mean."

"That sounds very adult," Harry muses. "Will there be pancakes at this important breakfast?"

"Chocolate chip," Liam promises. 

"You drive a tough bargain, but I'm in." Harry kisses the corner of his mouth, lets his lips skate along Liam's jaw until he can murmur in his ear, "Could love you again too, if I'm being honest. Not sure I ever stopped, really."

Liam's stomach swoops at the words, dropping with the steep, sudden plunge of a roller coaster. That's Harry though - even when you see the track laid out in front of you, know exactly when a curve is coming, it manages to catch you off guard. He frees one hand, presses his fingertips to Harry's jaw to angle his face back towards Liam's to kiss him again, pouring everything he's got into it, sucking on his bottom lip and nipping at the red skin, tongue darting out to soothe the sting. Harry groans into his mouth when his fingers tighten in Harry's hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt, the way Harry always liked.

"On second thought," Harry manages around a breathless gasp. "Forget the bedroom. Too far. Here is good."

"It's just down the hall," Liam tries to argue, but Harry's already slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Liam's shirt, rucking up the fabric as he trails his hands up Liam's chest, fingertips catching on the contours of muscle, lingering on Liam's sensitive nipples. "Off, off, off," Harry chants, tugging at the shirt until Liam finally pulls it over his head. Harry's joins his in a pile on the floor a moment later, and then Harry's mouth is back on his, kissing Liam like he's drowning for the taste.

It takes a few stumbling steps for Liam to back Harry up to the edge of the couch, and he shoves Harry over the arm of it with a hand to his sternum. Harry lands on his back with a low grunt, bare chest littered with dark ink and legs splayed wide in his too tight jeans. Liam lets his gaze rake over Harry's lanky frame, from his ruined curls and heavy-lidded eyes, to the flowery laurels tattooed over his hips, neatly framing the bulge in his jeans. Biting his lower lip, Harry reaches down until he can hook his thumbs beneath his waistband, pushing his jeans low enough that it becomes obvious he's got nothing on beneath them. Knocking Harry's knee out of the way, Liam settles himself on the couch between Harry's spread thighs, dipping his head to press his mouth to the giant moth inked over Harry's stomach. He follows the trail of hair leading down, feeling the way Harry's muscles tense and tremble under his lips.

"Jesus, Liam," Harry croaks, his voice sounding wrecked, deeper than Liam's ever heard it, when Liam mouths over the hard line of Harry's cock through his jeans. Liam glances up and Harry reaches his hand out to rub his thumb over Liam's bottom lip, his touch gentle. "Missed this, too," he murmurs. "So fucking pretty, you have no idea."

Reaching for Harry's zipper, Liam holds his gaze as he works Harry's jeans down far enough to free his cock, watches the way Harry's eyes darken, black pupils nearly swallowing the thin ring of green when he wraps a hand loosely around him, pumping slowly. Harry's eyes slip shut completely when Liam gets his mouth on him, his breath stuttering out and his squirming hips pinned to the couch cushion beneath Liam's hands. He keeps his grip tight, can feel the way Harry tenses in his hold, like he's holding back from letting go and fucking into Liam's mouth. It's been awhile since Liam's done this, but he hasn't forgotten his old tricks. He does everything he can to make Harry writhe, hips jerking helplessly, and it's not long before Harry's babbling, "Fuck, fuck, Liam, fuck, I'm gonna, Liam-"

Harry comes with a low whine, one hand gripping the arm of the couch above his head with white knuckles and the other on Liam's face, fingertips running over the stubble covering his jaw. Liam swallows the best he can, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth and resting his cheek on Harry's thigh while he catches his breath. He only managed to get Harry's jeans pulled down to just above his knees, the fabric digging into Harry's skin, and Liam's cock is pressing uncomfortably against his own zipper. 

"So," Liam rasps after a long minute, "Where's that stamina you were bragging about?"

"Your _mouth_ , Liam," is all Harry's able to retort, still sounding completely wrecked. "'M gonna - I owe you two orgasms at least, for that. _Fuck_."

"We're keeping score, are we?"

"Shut up. Why are you still wearing clothes? Why aren't we - Liam, I was promised a bed. Why aren't we naked in your bed?"

Liam raises an eyebrow. "You thought it was too far." He grinds his hips into the couch cushion, needing a little friction, and bites his lip at the feeling. Harry's still blinking at him sleepily, completely useless post-orgasm. 

"I'll make it up to you. Lemme make it up to you," he promises. "Show me your bedroom."

They make it as far as the hallway before Harry drops to his knees, Liam's head thunking almost painfully against the wall when Harry shoves him against it and wraps his lips around Liam's cock. By the time they reach the bedroom and collapse in Liam's bed, they've managed to shed the rest of their clothes in a messy trail, and they press together skin to skin, Liam's chest to Harry's back. It's been years since Liam's fallen asleep to the feel of Harry's heartbeat beneath his palm, Harry's curls tickling his nose. Years since he's felt so comfortable in his own skin, holding tightly onto someone else.

Harry's still in his arms when he wakes up in the morning, and Liam thinks that this time, he isn't letting go.

 

 


End file.
